


We Who Protect

by unspecifiedspecibus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Complicated Relationships, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hunter!Cas, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, slow-build romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unspecifiedspecibus/pseuds/unspecifiedspecibus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is no looming apocalypse, the existence of angels is a question of faith, and Castiel belongs to a family of elite hunters.</p><p>“This isn’t just about what your choice is, Dean.  Once a person starts to hunt, they can never stop.  The things you learn to do, the things you have to do, they mark you.  They change you.  Once you make that decision, there’s no going back.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Who Protect

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a hunter!Cas au. I also needed something where everyone wasn't dead. So here, have this.  
> It'll start out slow, but it will build momentum as it continues. If you're looking for porn, you're in the wrong place, but if you like angst and slow character development, you're right where you need to be.
> 
> Thank you for reading. ♥

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,”  John Winchester said, lip curled. 

 

“’Fraid not,” the older, lighter-haired boy said.  He was chewing some bubblegum loudly, one hand resting on the shoulder of his slight, dark-haired shadow.

 

The Roadhouse was closed, lit only above the bar and back in the kitchen, where Mary and Ellen were sharpening machetes, the long grating sighs of the metal only slightly muffled by the closed door. 

 

“Well, who is it?”  Bobby said from somewhere behind John’s shoulder, chair scraping as he stood.

 

“The Novaks sent some fucking kids to help,” John answered, before directing his attention back to the kids.  The younger one had to be the same age as Dean, and smaller than him at that.  “Go home, get some sleep.  You two have school tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow is a furlough day,”  the dark-haired kid said, squinting up at John.  His eyes were big and blue but cold and sharp like a bird of prey.  “Our educations are important.  Michael wouldn’t have allowed us to take this assignment if our attendance would be at stake as a consequence.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Bobby said, now at John’s shoulder.

 

“Ain’t he the cutest,” the sandy-haired boy said, grinning.  His teeth were the kind of white and straight that got casted for toothpaste commercials.  “Now that that’s settled, how’s about you let us in?  From the message you sent Michael, it sounds like you need some help.”

 

“We ain’t taking any help from kids.  How old are you, fifteen?  And what about him?  He should be at home right now, not running around doing Michael’s dirty work,”  Bobby said.

 

All at once, the sandy-haired boy’s smile was gone  He spoke slowly, as if Bobby were a small child who had misbehaved.  “Listen here, asshole.  Michael and the rest of the family are working a big case in another city right now.  He sent as many of us as he could _spare_.  Meaning that while we speak, our family is at risk for your sake.  So how about you show my brother a little bit of respect, hm?”

 

“Our mission is to exterminate the wendigo, whether you assist us, or not,”  the younger child said, his eyes still trained on John. 

 

John turned to the older kid.  “Look, you can come with us, if you have to.  But don’t bring a child into this—”

 

He saw it in his peripheral, the child shifting, arm swinging in a sharp arc, too quick to track even if he had been looking, a lick of breeze against his cheek, a thick thump somewhere behind him.  He flinched away a second late, glancing behind him to where a knife was embedded in between the eyes of a Marilyn Monroe portrait, handle trembling, then back at the dark haired child who was now glaring up at him.

 

“I fight with my brothers,”  he said.

 

“Well, I’ll be damned,”  Bobby said.

 

The sandy-haired boy smacked the back of the child’s head, “Castiel, what did I tell you about shit like that?”  He gestured at Marilyn’s murdered portrait.

 

“Don’t do shit like that,” Castiel answered, as if repeating an old lecture.

 

“Now go get the knife and apologize.”

 

“Yes, Gabriel.”

 

As Castiel ducked between the two men into the bar, Gabriel straightened and looked first at Bobby, then at John.  “He’s coming, whether you like it or not.  To be real with you, even if I tried to stop him, he’d break out of his bonds and track us down before we even managed to kill the thing.”

 

Castiel ducked between them again and stood himself back next to Gabriel, knife already stashed away.  “I am sorry for throwing a knife into your poster,” he said tonelessly.

 

John looked over at Bobby, who was already looking at him.  Bobby raised his eyebrows and half-shrugged, and John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Fine, but if he throws anything else, we’re gonna tie both of you up.”

 

“You sure can try,”  Gabriel said, grinning.

 

 

\---

 

 

The instant the bell rang, Dean was out of his seat, backpack hiked up high on his shoulder.  He had to go get Sam, whose school let out a good twenty minutes before Dean’s.  The teacher’s shrill, “Mr.Winchester, did I dismiss you yet?” followed him out into the hall but he didn’t slow. 

 

Alegbra—not even algebra, _pre-algebra_ , the watered-down bullshit version of algebra—was pretty much useless to normal people and a waste of time for hunters.  Not that he was a hunter yet, but he’d almost gotten dad to let him go along on the hunt last night, before mom had stalked up, sharpened machete in hand, and asked him primly about his homework.

 

Dean snorted at the memory, shouldering past a crowd of laughing girls to reach his locker.

 

“Dean!  Hey, Dean!”  It was Jo, blonde hair wild and backpack only half-zipped.  “Jeez, Mrs.Harrison is gonna kill you!  What’s the rush for, anyways?”

 

“I gotta go get Sammy,” Dean said, pulling books out of his backpack and stuffing them into his locker.

 

“Well, Bobby said to come to the Roadhouse after school, that’s where your mom and dad are.”

 

“Yeah?  They okay?”

 

“Yeah, Mom said everyone’s fine.  They just want to wait until some other hunters that came by get picked up or something.”

 

“What’s that mean?”

 

“Dunno.  Guess we might find out.”

 

Dean snorted, slamming the locker shut.  “Yeah, like they’d tell us _kids_ anything.”

 

“I bet Rufus’d tell us.”

 

“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you’ve got a crush on him.”

 

“I do not!” 

 

Dean ducked out of the way before she could smack him, grinning back at her glare, turned on his heel and walked briskly away, ignoring her angry mutterings when she followed.

 

Sam was attending an elementary school nearby while they were in town.  The main building was under construction, so most of the classes were held in a dusty stand of portables in what was once the playground.  Sam always waited for Dean in a swath of shade cast by a rotting fence next to the parking lot.  Today he had a book in his hands, head bowed to read.

 

“Ey, Sammy.”  Dean said as he approached, and Sam’s head popped up, closing the book. 

 

“Hey, Dean,” he said, then looked past Dean’s shoulder and added, “Hi, Jo.”

 

“Hi, Sam, whatcha readin?”

 

Sam tucked the book under his arm.  “It’s a biography of John Jay.  The supreme court justice,” he said quickly before focusing his attention on Dean, “Have you talked to mom and dad yet?”

 

“No, but we’re going to the Roadhouse to meet them,” Dean said.

 

“They’re both okay,” Jo added.

 

Sam visibly relaxed.

 

The three of them followed the road as it curved through a residential neighborhood and into town and then into the outskirts of town.  The Roadhouse was in the center of a dusty lot, surrounded by parked cars that all faced the battered building as if looking to it for an answer.

 

The Roadhouse was much quieter than an average bar, even during the day, when normal customers outnumbered hunters.  A bell on the door announced their arrival, and Ellen spotted them from behind the bar and beckoned them with a tilt of her head. 

 

“Your parents are in the break room.  Go with them, Jo, so the guys in the kitchen know they aren’t out to steal somethin’,” she said once they were within earshot, bumping a drawer closed with a generous hip.

 

Jo lead them through the grease-stained double doors into the kitchen and then out another side door into a cramped, windowless room lit by softly humming fluorescent lights.  Half of the room was taken up by shelves full of opened boxes of napkins and straws and latex gloves, and big jugs of cleaning fluid.  A fold-up table was set up against the opposite wall, underneath a sagging calendar and a stained whiteboard, and that was where their parents were seated across from a kid and a teenager.

 

“Mom,” Sam said, hurrying to her side.  She opened her arms and caught him in a hug.  There was a deep cut across one of her cheekbones that was held closed with butterfly bandages, and her hair was pulled back in a messy knot.

 

“Hi, Sammy, did you have a good day?” Dean heard her murmur, but he had already switched his attention to his father.

 

John had half-turned to watch them walk in.  One of his arms was in a sling against his chest. 

 

“Tough job?” Dean asked, stepping closer.  The younger of the two kids—his age, probably—was watching him intently from the other side of the table, ignoring the half-eaten sandwich in front of him.

 

“Yeah, but we got it done,” John said.  He had an opened beer in front of him, glistening with condensation.

 

“With some help, of course,” said the older of the boys around a mouthful of pie.

 

“Yes,”  John said tightly.

 

Dean looked at his father’s expression, then back at the boys.  “Wait.  From _you?_ ”

           

“Of course from us,” the boy said, shoveling another bite of pie.

 

“You’re hunters?”  Sam had been paying attention, after all.

 

“Yes,”  said the younger one, standing jerkily.  He was wearing a beige trench coat that almost got caught in his chair.  He jabbed his hand forward for a handshake.  “Hello, my name is Castiel Novak.  That is my brother, Gabriel Novak.”

 

Dean heard Jo stifle a little laugh behind him, and his ears got hot.

 

“Uh, I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean said, gingerly shaking the offered hand.  “That’s my little brother, Sam, and Jo is Ellen’s kid.”

 

“You are John and Mary’s sons,” Castiel said.

 

“Yeah,”  Dean said, pulling away and putting his hands in his pockets.

 

“Sit down, Castiel, you’re making them nervous,” Gabriel said.

 

“Oh.  Sorry.”  Castiel sat back down quickly.

 

“Mary,” John said, “How about you take the kids to get something to eat?”

 

Dean fisted his hands in his pockets.  Time to get rid of the kids so the hunters could talk, huh.  “I’m not hungry,” he told John.

 

John’s mouth tightened and he sat up straighter, inflating to tell Dean off, but Mary’s voice cut him off before he could begin, “John.  He’s old enough to learn more, if he wants.”

 

The two of them shared a long look, and John relented, sighing.  “Alright.”

 

Dean grinned at Mary over John’s shoulder, and she smiled back.  “Come on, Jo, Sam.”

 

“But Mrs.Winchester—”

 

“If your mother is alright with you hearing hunter talk, you can come back, Jo,” Mary said, herding them both out of the room.

 

The door closed behind them with a quiet click.

 

“So, these guys were the ones Jo said were waiting to get picked up?  Or something?” Dean said.

 

“Yeah, that’d prolly be us.  I don’t have my license yet,” Gabriel said.  Sometime in the span of the last minute, the last of his pie had disappeared.

 

“Wait, how old are you?”  Dean asked, before John could think about interrupting.

 

“Fifteen,” Gabriel said, tone rising like a question.

 

“Dean—”  John started, but Dean didn’t give him a chance to continue.

 

“What about Cas here?”

 

“I’m twelve.”

 

Dean turned on John.  “So, you’ll hunt with these guys, but you won’t let me tag along even once?”

 

“Dean, their situation is very different from ours.  Your mother and I decided before you were born that—”

 

“Yeah, yeah you’ve told me a hundred times, but I don’t care,” Dean said, “I already know that I want to be a hunter.  Keeping me out of the game until I’m eighteen is just a stupid waste of time!”

 

“Don’t you take that tone with me.  Your mother and I have worked hard to give you what we never had,”  John said, his mouth a thin line.

 

“Yeah, but as long as it’s someone else’s kids, you don’t give a shit, right?”

 

“They are not my responsibility, Dean,” John said, voice rising until it was almost a shout.  “And while you are my responsibility, I will decide when you do and do not hunt.  Do you understand?”

 

Dean ground his teeth.  Gabriel was watching the two of them, his expression bland, and Castiel was staring down at his lap and frowning like a kid in a bullying stock photo.

 

“Do you?”

 

“Yeah, I understand.”

 

“Now if you wanna stick around, sit down and shut up.”

 

Dean sat down noisily, back rigid, arms crossed.

 

John sighed, then spoke, this time to Gabriel.  “Sorry about that.  You said that there was a job that Michael wanted more hands for?”

 

“Yeah.  We’re zeroing in on a big vamp nest in Chicago.  Urban area, they’ve been chewing through the homeless population faster than the morgue can take care of the bodies.  They’re probably holding up in an apartment building, so we’ll need a lot of manpower covering the exits, the basement, the roof, and the nearby roofs, as well as a team to sweep the interior.”  Gabriel glanced at Dean, then back at John.  “I’m sure you’ll want to talk to your wife before you say anything, so I’ll just give you Michael’s number.”

 

Without having to be asked, Castiel had pulled out what looked like a business card, along with a pen, out of a battered backpack in his lap.  Gabriel scribbled something on it and passed it over to John.

 

“Yeah, I’ll talk to Mary about it and get back to you.”

 

“Could you pass that information on to Bobby and Rufus, too?  They were good last night.”

 

“Sure.”

 

The phone between the brothers buzzed, and Gabriel picked it up.  “Anna’ll be here in five minutes.  You gonna finish that?”  Gabriel nudged Castiel with his elbow, gesturing at the still half-eaten sandwich.

 

“No, I’m satisfied.  You may finish it.”

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Gabriel said, swooping on the sandwich and taking a big bite.  As he chewed, he added, “Hey, Winchester.  You mind if we talk to junior here for a minute, just us and him?  I got some advice for him.”

 

John looked skeptical.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna encourage him to hunt early.  That’d be manslaughter.  I could go to jail for that.”

 

John huffed.  “Fine, then,” he said, “Don’t forget to say goodbye on your way out.”

 

He left, closing the door quietly behind him.  Gabriel was still, staring into space for a moment, as if listening to his footsteps fading out.

 

Gabriel took another bite of Castiel’s sandwich.  Castiel shifted the backpack in his lap.

 

“Look, kid—”

 

“Dean.”

 

“Yeah, Dean, whatever—you can’t just _beg_ or _whine_ your way into a hunt.  Age’s got nothing to do with it.  It’s training that’s important.”

 

“I wasn’t—”

 

Gabriel didn’t let him cut in, continuing, “Castiel over here?  He can shoot a crossbow like Robin Hood, throw knives like a rogue ninja, and take hits better than a stunt double.  I’m pretty sure if we threw you two into a ring and told you to fight, he’d go easy on you and still kill you in five minutes.”

 

Dean glanced at Castiel, face hot.  Castiel was looking resolutely away, fiddling with the filthy hem of his trenchcoat.

 

“You wanna go with daddy on hunts?  Train.  Lift some weights or something, take a kung fu class, steal his gun when he’s passed out on the couch, whatever—just.  At this rate, you’re gonna get your ass killed.”

 

“You don’t know how much training I’ve had!!  Just because I’m not some high and mighty stuck up asshole doesn’t mean I can’t beat your ass in a fight!”

 

“I can tell you’re green just from looking at you, kid.  It’s not some kind of insult, it’s the truth.  Now that I’ve imparted you with that little nugget of wisdom, we’ve gotta go.  Anna’s gonna want us to be waiting outside.”

 

“You’re seriously just gonna take off after spewing all that crap.”

 

“Yep.  We are.  C’mon, Castiel.”

 

“One moment.”

 

“Jeez, you’re always just sitting there like a sack of potatoes instead of getting your shit together,”  Gabriel said, already halfway out the door.  “Ooh, I smell French fries,” he said, letting the door close behind him.

 

Castiel stood a little stiffly.  His movements were awkward, like he didn’t know how long his own limbs were.  He hefted the backpack over his shoulder, the shaft of what might be a crossbow sticking out the top, along with black feathers clipped like the end of arrows were.

 

“Forgive Gabriel.  He is blunt.  But what he said is true.”

 

“Are you trying to comfort me or something?  Because on the comforting scale, that was pretty weak.”

 

“No.”

 

Castiel crossed over to Dean’s side and held out a knife to him, handle first, until Dean took it.

 

“It is a good knife for throwing.  The blade is lined with silver.”

 

“You’re giving me this?  I can’t—”

 

“I will not accept it back until you have slain something with it.”

 

The blade was worn and covered in scratches, but the handle was smooth and solid in Dean’s hand.  Still warm from Castiel’s grip.

 

“…Did you seriously just use the word ‘slain?’”

 

“Is there something wrong with me using the word ‘slain?’”

 

Dean snorted, then angled a grin up at Castiel, who was frowning, head slightly tilted.

 

“Alright, thou wish-eth ist mine command.”

 

“You are making fun of the way I speak?”

 

“Yes, now go catch up to your brother before he ditches your slow ass.”

 

Castiel huffed, leaving with only a quiet rustle of fabric.  For someone who moved like a baby giraffe, he sure could walk quietly.

 

Dean turned the knife over in his hands a few times before tucking it carefully into the back waistband of his pants.

 

The door opened again, but it wasn’t either of the brothers returning, it was Mary, carrying a plate with a burger on it.

 

“I figured that you were lying about being hungry.”

 

Dean took the plate from her.  Best mom ever.

 

“Where’s Sammy?”

 

“Out front, with your father.  They wanted to meet Anna.”  Mary sat down next to Dean, turning the chair so that she could face him more easily.  “Go ahead, eat.”

 

Dean picked up a fry.  “Why d’you guys want me to wait so bad?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why’s it so important that I wait until I’m freaking eighteen to even train to be a hunter?  I already know that’s what I want to do, mom.  I wanna be a hunter like you and dad.”

 

“Dean, we want you to have a choice—”

 

“But I—”

 

“This isn’t just about what your choice is, Dean.  Once a person starts to hunt, they can never stop.  The things you learn to do, the things you _have_ to do, they mark you.  They change you.  Once you make that decision, there’s no going back.”

 

The fries were greasy, they made his fingers shiny.  He took another one, popping it into his mouth whole.

 

“Those kids have been training all their lives, right?  What’s wrong with just training?  That doesn’t sound soul-scarring or whatever.”

 

Mary sighed.  “The Novak family is… different.  Both of those boys never had a choice.  They will never be able to escape, either.  Even if they wanted to.”  She put her hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing it and smiling sadly.  “I know it’s hard, waiting to grow up.  But please, try to look at this a different way.  It’s not a punishment.  I just don’t want you to make a mistake and regret it later.”

 

Dean turned back to his food, grabbing three fries at once, this time.  “Whatever, mom.”

 

Mary rubbed at his shoulder once more before letting her hand drop.  “If you want to, I can show you how to use a shotgun this weekend, alright?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, really.  Now eat your burger, before it gets cold.”

 

“Thanks, mom,”  Dean said, smiling at her.


End file.
